


The Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To

by LogicalBookThief



Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, and John's dirty mouth, rated for pre-sex shenanigans, spoilers for episode 12, thigh hickeys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tag to 1x12 - John knows he's bound for Hell. But in moments like these, it's a minor detail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Heaven I'll Be Sent To

**Author's Note:**

> Er, so this was meant to be a tag to “Angels and Ministers of Grace” and was started before the season finale, I’m just very late in posting it. Hope you all enjoy. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

_He was seven-years-old. His family was attending church for some occasion, Christmas or Easter, he couldn’t remember which. He was supposed to be in Sunday school class, but had left to use the loo, and afterwards he couldn’t resist doing a bit of exploring._

_The statue of the Virgin Mary stood before him, holy and pure and beautiful. She was the pinnacle of motherhood, the ideal that represented everything he desired most in the world._

_He reached out a small, chubby hand to get a taste of her heavenly light, just to feel the touch of a mother’s love – and at the last second he recoiled, wanting it so much yet not wishing to stain her with his curse._

“-ohn. Earth to _John,”_ Chas called for what was most likely the third time already, voice fading in from a distance, jolting him back to the present. “You with us?”

Blinking into focus, John struggled to regain his bearings. Already the church in Liverpool was a blurred remnant in his mind, returning to the obscure corner of memory from whence it came. When it was gone, he found himself sitting in the living room of the millhouse, the cigarette he’d been smoking hanging loosely between his fingers, almost near enough to burn the skin. No wonder Chas had been so persistent to yank him from his reverie.

Something was missing, though – or rather, someone. “Wasn’t Zed here a minute ago?”

“Try ten,” Chas deadpanned. Then he sighed, meaningfully, setting aside whatever he had been doing while John had been immersed in his reverie. “To be honest,” he said in a lowered tone, although the subject of their conversation was safely out of earshot, “I don’t know whether to be worried or happy for her. She seems so calm, even without having the tumor removed.”

John took a contemplative drag of his cigarette, filling his lungs with its dying breath. “She’s at peace with the knowledge she hasn’t been branded by evil and has had her faith in a higher power validated. For most people, that’s a reason to celebrate.”

“But not you,” said Chas; a statement, not a question.

 _Guilty as charged._ “As long as she’s pleased with her choices,” John shrugged, “what more can we do?”

Chas nodded in agreement, though it was half-hearted at best. There was obviously another matter weighing on him. “Go ahead,” snorted John, after watching him flounder for a while. “I may not be psychic, but I can see you’re itching to ask something. So get on with it.”

Pulling a face, Chas continued to chew it over for a moment before finally taking the plunge. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with all of this,” he said, using the same careful combination of sincerity and caution usually reserved for stray dogs and John. “With Manny and Zed and everything…I figure you’re not opposed to sharing your celestial contact but if you _weren’t_ okay with any part of it…”

Chas was doing a bully job of beating around the bush, but they had known each other long enough that John could read between the lines, hearing everything he wasn’t saying.

_Does it bother you that he told her she’s headed to Heaven while you’re still damned?_

“Am I jealous, you mean?” John ventured. He smiled wanly at Chas’ apologetic expression. “Nah. Not that I blame you for thinking it, mate. Only…”

_You killed her. Your own mother. Your life stole hers. What a waste._

“Only I was never all too bereft over losing a spot upstairs,” John voiced at last. “Not that I find the prospect of Hell very _enticing,_ mind you. But as for Heaven…”

_You were supposed to have a brother. A twin. He died in the womb – strangled by your umbilical cord._

“Reckon I never expected to go there in the first place,” he admitted softly, watching the ash of his spent cigarette fall to the floor. There was no bitterness in his tone, no envy – only a stale resignation.

_You never had a chance. You were damned before you born._

He stood to fetch the ashtray he’d left across the room; sad, thoughtful eyes followed his movements, and it made him want to bite his tongue and reel the words back into the dark, hollow areas of his heart where they belonged.

Instead he stubbed out his fag, put on his poker face and sauntered over to his mate. “How’s the leg?” he inquired.

Chas regarded him suspiciously. “Why?”

Smirking, John dropped into his lap, clutching at his shoulders for leverage. “Thought you might want to play doctor with me, _Daddy,”_ he fairly purred, subtle as a dog in heat. “I could be the naughty nurse and make you feel a whole lot _better,_ eh?”

A gust of mirthful air brushed past his ear as Chas snorted. Warm, broad hands came to rest on his hips, tugging him closer, and in the process grinding him into Chas’s lap so John felt his burgeoning arousal twitch with _need._ He surged upward, too eager to wait for a reply, groaning in pleasure and triumph when Chas obliged by meeting him halfway.

It was he who broke the contact, parting for air despite John’s mewl of disapproval. “Trying to make it up to me?” he guessed, grinning wryly.

“That, and get into your pants,” John affirmed, tongue ghosting over his abused lips, tasting the remnants of their kiss. He knew he had Chas hooked when the other man’s eyes darkened at the sight. “Two birds with one stone, if you ask me.”

Suddenly Chas gripped his hips and threw him down on the couch, settling between his splayed legs. “Always the opportunist,” he muttered against the chest heaving beneath him, even as he worked open John’s belt.

“Look who’s fucking talking – _shite,”_ John hissed at the scratch of a beard against his quivering thighs. Chas always made quick work of him like this, reducing him to a moaning, mumbling mess within minutes; and hang on, hadn’t he been the one doing the seducing?

“You were saying?” asked Chas, and oh hell did he sound smug. John was poised to respond but then Chas was nuzzling the sensitive skin before teasing it with just a hint of teeth and every coherent thought in his head fled.

John was not a man of faith, not by any means; but when Chas had him wanting, writhing beneath his hands like this, it was all he could do to breath, “God, _yes”_ and pray for mercy.

.

.

.

.

“You know, I think the Bible has a few choice words about blokes who bugger each other’s brains out.”

Chas arched at eyebrow at him, a gesture that read as, _Not your garden variety of pillow talk, is it?_

To which John grinned, tacitly replying, _Have to keep you on your toes, don’t I?_

A roll of the eyes was the only answer that garnered.

In response to his earlier remark, Chas shrugged. “I never claimed to be a saint.”

“Pity. St. Francis has such a lovely ring to it,” said John wistfully, and received a playful swat to the area just below his arse for the use of his mate’s first name.

But the light slap had John practically whimpering, a shiver curling down his spine; the skin on his upper thigh was still pink and raw from Chas’ beard and teeth, and he couldn’t deny how much he loved the lingering sting that remained for days. Nothing in the world quite like being sore and sated after a good proper fucking, really, and John would dispute anyone who told him differently.

“The thing about Heaven is,” Chas began after a few beats of silence, surprising John by speaking again. Usually by this point, communication was limited to lazy looks, absentminded caresses. “It sounds nice in theory, but it isn’t exactly something you can look forward to. After all, everyone you love, everything worth living for is here and not there.”

John hid his smile against Chas’s chest, and said nothing, except, “Overrated concept, really. No wonder Manny’s always bothering us lowly mortals.”

The chuckle that reverberated against his cheek made muscles go lax on instinct, and before he knew it he was melting into the other man, burrowing into the warmth that Chas’ body emitted like a fever. It was easy to forget everything, as they lay together in the calm that would undoubtedly precede the storm, easy to forget anything beyond the arms looped around his waist and the welcoming pulse lulling beneath his ear.

Whispers in his head reminded him that it was only a temporary relief from the knowledge of what awaited him in the afterlife; a reminder that Hell was eternal, and all of this would seem so brief and fleeting as he burned in the flames that hovered at the edge of his peripheral vision.

But then he pictured Zed’s face as she stumbled upon them in their tender, post-coital position, and the exasperated Spanish curses that would follow. And how they would spur his unabashed laughter, while she pretended to be pissed even as she smiled, asking what was wrong with their bedroom that they couldn’t screw in there? Chas would inevitably mumble something about it being John’s fault as he stretched and move to get up so he could start on supper, and John would pat his ass as he left, still chortling as he urged Zed to pass him his smokes.

And in the midst of it all, he wouldn’t even notice that the whispers had gone quiet, and that the looming glow of hellfire had dimmed. Because it was here that mattered, so he might as well enjoy the time he had left before judgment day came, whether that be tomorrow or twenty years from now.

 _Screw it. Who needs Heaven, anyway?_ John mused, mostly half-asleep. _I’ve got something better._


End file.
